Or at least so say the frogs. I hear them chirping for the first time since last year. The evening is coolish, low 70s. It’s windy and the sunset is picturesque. I’m compelled that every breath is a deep one to drink in the amazing smells stirred up by the impending storm. Surely there will be a storm. There are too few here, and it makes me miss my home. A place without thunderstorms is a place without the cleansing that we need for a fresh start. I think it’s past due to rain like that in this town.
On a cold day, with stress and cats, and hindsight… February 6, 2009
I love my cats. I love their soft fur, their curious ears, the intelligence in their eyes. When I’ve had a bad day, they are there for me. When I sit in bed working on schoolwork, they are here. Sometimes trying to lie on the keyboard as I type. Other times curling up into three furry balls on the bed around me. One is on my honey’s pillow, curled tight and holding his legs to his face like he’s preparing to jump into the pool as a cannonball. Another is at the foot of the bed, quiet and oddly un-mischievous. The third and oldest is next to the laptop, sleeping on a pillow with her nose tucked under her arm. All of their breaths I hear in the silence of my typing and their rest.
I have a guilt that derives from not spending enough time with them and not showing enough interest when they want my attention. But this world makes me go so fast. Or is that a lie? Do I just go along with it because that’s the norm? I just want to step off and have a break. I want to enjoy my life. But I can’t remember how.
Remember when I was going to be a singer? And then I was too afraid to try out for a scholarship because I smoked a few cigarettes? Remember how those cigarettes turned into more over the next few years, and I got further off track? “What will I be when I grow up? What do I like? What does one do?” I didn’t know. I tried voice in college, but the distractions. How do you balance it all? I couldn’t find a way. I ended up following the wrong crowd very far down a bad path and spent so many years finding my way back.
Maybe I am still lost. The path has so many twisting offshoots at this point, it’s tough for me to tell. So I go on every day and do what is scheduled for me. And little free time remains for me to wonder if I should’ve done something else. So here I am. In a moment of reflection, remembering that I went into nursing because it was secure, might be interesting, and would leave time for me to live my life and pursue singing. Back when I still focused on singing. It didn’t leave time…or either I didn’t. I don’t know the truth.
The years away from the stage have allowed fear to grow in the place where joy existed. I always had a touch of stage fright, but nothing that deterred me from pursuing the part. Now life feels like one long chore. One very long requirement that is so fatiguing and minimally rewarding. When I finish this grad program will I pursue singing? Will I motivate myself to seek out those opportunities? Or have I given it up forever in search of the few moments during which I can be alone and in peace away from the world? I love those moments until they are interrupted by the dread of having to do something again. How did I end up on this path following someone else’s dream? Does anyone actually love what they do and truly enjoy life?
I think it’s a joke to label thoughts such as these as depression. I’ve tried that route, but that isn’t it, and no therapy or pill changes the truth of what your heart tells your mind. This is reality. And reality isn’t pretty, it isn’t fun, and it isn’t what you always dreamed about. So I am thankful for what I have. And I am grateful to my cats. They show me love and understanding, patience and comfort when the world around me has none to offer. I wish I could offer them so much more. But they are so sweet and simple, they’d never worry about such things. So instead of worrying, they are here, in this bed, resting all around me as I do my best to focus on what the world requires of me and what I am obligated to contribute for all of the days of my life until I have nothing left to give. They are angels, best friends, guardians, and security blankets.
Is there any job that I want to do?
No. Even as a singer I would be forced to meet deadlines, accept criticism, and would have a tough time supporting myself.
So even if this grad program is the wrong path, there is no better path that I can visualize other than not working at all. So here I am. Here I am. Here I am. Here I will be for the rest of my life. I will do the best I can with what I have and try to enjoy it the best I can. What other choice do I have?
An election that makes me go, “Hmmm…” November 5, 2008
I think it is a great accomplishment that America has an incoming black president. I hope that black Americans will understand that the playing field is level and that if you work hard you can accomplish your dreams. I hope that it will help this country grow together instead of apart.
I do have to write about these things, too, though. The funniest thing about this election is the masses of people saying how wonderful it is that, “America finally got it right” and “we’re going to see CHANGE!” and so on. Hahahaha! What are they smoking? What is it they expect him to change? Oh my. What a funny funny joke. Neither candidate was going to bring change, unless you mean the kind of change that will be left in our pockets after they allot more money to government spending programs. Pennies, my friends.
The frightening thing about this election is that during my day today, amongst the, “yay! we’re gonna have CHANGE!” crowd, I was also concerned. One table away from me, two friends were discussing REPARATIONS, and that Obama will be the one to finally supply them. They sounded so happy and serious. And that is frightening. Do you want to go there? Because my Irish ancestors weren’t treated well by the British or by the initial colonists here in America. And my relatives that were impacted by the actions of the Nazis. If this society is going to talk reparations, then cut us ALL a check. Nobody has made it through life without being wronged by somebody.
Anyway. enough of this garbage for today. I didn’t like either candidate, but I thought McCain would – at least continue to steer us away from Socialism. Hey, I’ve seen Socialist healthcare in other countries firsthand. Not pretty. And the living conditions….everyone with the same, small home, with barely any “extra” for spending on things outside of foods. And most people don’t earn enough to own, so they rent, but they can’t even afford to pay a full rental, so they get subsidized housing from the government…because why not? The government has taken most of their income from every paycheck, so they can feel “SAFE.” That is terrifying to me.
Ugh. Monday. October 20, 2008
It is a pet peeve of mine when people use the word “speak” in this way:
“How does the article speak to the needs of our profession?” or “Can you speak to the relevance of that?”
Agh! It makes me shudder. It’s the type of phrasing that gives the impression that someone is trying to sound academically impressive, so I am always incredibly UNimpressed.
Aside from this lackluster information, I am under the weather today. I feel my throat becoming scratchier, my head aching, and my general energy level below the norm. I’ve been supplementing with extra vit C, but it never provides a quick fix. Maybe I’ll try some salt water. Yuck.
The should haves and the might have beens…. October 14, 2008
There is no way I have time enough to write what I need to say.
The gist is that I was told of the rejections and the minimal chance at success. I was warned of the poor earning potential. The likelihood of always working additional jobs to make ends meet. I was given the lectures about being responsible. I was frightened into believing it wasn’t worthwhile to follow my love of music into a career. I justified turning my focus elsewhere, just as I’d been taught. “You have to be responsible. You have to find job security.” And I added my own twist, “I wouldn’t want to end up just a music teacher.” That’s true. I wouldn’t. But GOD I miss music. I miss singing. I miss the fulfillment. I feel empty. I hate this graduate program. I hate that I am in debt up to my ears and I’m only halfway through the program. If only I could quit. Sitting through class is excrutiating. I come home and Vivaldi – BEAUTIFUL concertos – fill my ears. There IS NO “loud enough.” I can’t drown the years I’ve spent chasing “job security.” Maybe they were all right about my temperament though. I’m so tender-hearted. I couldn’t take the rejection of people disliking my voice. And I rationalize that there is no real reason to professionally pursue music, because the judgement of others seen through success in music – really isn’t important. Being happy within myself is what matters. But I’m not happy. I don’t even know if I understand how to be happy at the point. I’ve removed myself so far from the things I love. Thank goodness for a wonderful husband. For our wonderful pets. But otherwise, this world can go to hell. I’m so tired of looking for happiness in friendships and being shown the ugly side of people. I wish so much for a way to change things. But there is no way. I just have to get through this program and finally have this job that will provide me financial security…supposedly. But will I be happy? I enjoy the job. But I don’t love it. I don’t want to live and breathe it. God how I miss music. How I wish that I could write, sing, perform, and hear music all day. Drown out the ugliness in this life with beautiful sounds. We are sent down certain paths for so many reasons. I hope mine blossoms. I hope I can find my music again one day.
The weak, the tired, the me September 8, 2008
In class today I felt an anxiety attack brewing. I told it to go away. Nowadays that works for me. Usually. But my mind went fuzzy. My hands started going tingly. I had to think about what normal breathing was, while trying to make myself do it. Focus on the lecture. This can’t be happening. I could feel myself trying to breathe. Trying to remain calm though my insides all at once felt poisoned. I was shaking. Maybe I drank too much caffeine, but that was hours ago. Maybe my blood sugar dropped. Maybe I drank too much Gatorade. Can Gatorade make you sick? I looked at the nutrition label. Only 1% of the daily value of potassium in each serving, and I drank 3 servings. That shouldn’t cause such a feeling, right? I tried all of my mental calming tactics. I took a bite of yogurt. It tasted funny. Maybe it had soured. I was scared to take another bite. I closed the lid and shoved it aside. Rush of heat to my face, chills in my arms. Please let me make it through this class. We were near the end of the 3 hrs. I wanted to run out of the room. Being alone feels safer in moments like this. But I was in a room of well-educated health professionals. If I passed out (which I thought was approaching as I became dizzier), they could help me. I remained seated. 45 minutes felt like days. He released us. I hurried into the hall and tore out another snack to boost my sugar. I was quaking with fear and this horrible feeling. It didn’t help. The snack did nothing. I encountered a few other students on my way out of the door, as I juggled the ideas of leaving for the day, despite a full schedule of classes. Blah blah blah. I tried to communicate and act normal. It wasn’t working. I had to leave.
Now at home I still feel “off” despite having made myself eat again hoping that would comfort this wicked distortion in my body. Maybe it is stress. I work on mindless tasks for school, because napping would mean sleeping poorly tonight. But I feel like half of my mind is on holiday very far away. What did I eat? Is this the flu? I’m no longer shaking, but I feel drained and confused. I hate that I seem to be less healthy than so many others. I try to take care of myself. I don’t understand.
Defenseless August 22, 2008
In this program, in my clinicals, I am not supposed to defend myself. I am not supposed to defend my actions…unless asked. When a preceptor tells me I am doing something wrong and to do it “his” way, I am happy to do that. I also try to explain the reason I was performing the action in such a way. I want to provide a rationale, if you will.
Well.
Apparently that is considered “negative” and that I don’t take criticism or direction. HUH? But. I. We are supposed to just say, “thank you” and move on. I. Uh. What?! THE? FUCK!!!! I really don’t mean any harm by explaining myself. I guess I explain my actions because I don’t want them to think I’m stupid. Or maybe I’m just filling the air with words to fill the moment? What? I have no idea how to communicate with people. Clearly the title of my previous post rings true. I don’t even REALIZE when I am miscommunicating. I just try to talk about what seems relevant. IF I HAD IT MY WAY I WOULD STOP TALKING TO PEOPLE COMPLETELY BECAUSE I AM SO FUCKING SICK AND SO GODDAMNED TIRED OF BEING MISUNDERSTOOD.
How do I know I was misunderstood? We have these lovely evaluations – I just read the one he wrote. It was like, “good, good, good, good, BAD, good good, see comments.” Shit y’all. I feel like I am a good person. I want to be liked. I LIKE people. But then they don’t think I’m nice – or think I can’t take criticism – and then I fucking cry because I tried so hard to be superstudent and fell short. Ugh.
I wish I could be less sensitive.
My Chinese is better than I thought August 20, 2008
Or maybe I am autistic or have asperger’s syndrome. *violent sigh*
I am so tired of people misunderstanding me. What I write. What I say. It seems so clear when I expel it into the world, and then it gets all jumbled when others receive it. Makes me want to hole up and not say a word but to myself.
I had a horrible dream last night. Nightmare. In it my mom died of stomach cancer. One minute she was diagnosed and the next she was gone. It was awful. Especially the realistic touches that my memory contributed, drawing thoughts from my recent visit home. I don’t think you can imagine how awful it is to lose a parent until you have lost one. At least, I can’t. Couldn’t. But my nightmare was vivid enough to help me realize what a mess I truly will be. And trying to cope with my dad losing my mom…that will be chaos at best.
I wonder sometimes – maybe it’s morbid – but I wonder which scenario would be better – mom or dad dying first. I guess those are normal thoughts…worrying about my parents, who are two of the kindest, most incredible people in this world. I don’t want to see either one hurting. Some parts of the future really suck. Sure, I want to graduate in a few years. But I don’t want time to pass for mom and dad. I want it to backtrack.
I miss the times we vacationed together. I miss mom’s richly colored hair, though it is beautiful as it has whitened with time. I miss dad’s confidence and athleticism. He seems so lost since retiring, and despite our encouragement he won’t work part time. I miss Light Brite, our 45″ player that was in the hallway with Hi Ho Cherry-O and Parcheesi.
I miss being tucked in at night. ”Sweet dreams dolly.” Hugs. The endless positive reinforcement and unconditional love. Enough to make me gag back then, but so wonderful to look back on. I miss stories in the hallway and sleeping bags by the fireplace when we lost power in rain or snow. I miss magical Christmases. I try to recreate them when I’m home, but we’ve lost something. Like no matter how I try, it ends up just being another day.
I miss having time.
I miss having time with my parents and my sister and our pets and the swimming pool. I miss my dad’s obsession with humongous speakers. ”Oh Sherry” and “No One is to Blame” on hot summer days, blaring as we swam. Steve Winwood’s “Bring me a higher love” when it was new. We danced and danced in their room.
I miss baking cookies with mom. Tickle wars when dad would finally get home from work. Or if we were asleep he’d sneak in and give us a kiss on the forehead. We could always tell. A telltale cigarette lighter or pen would appear on the carpet near my bed, having fallen from the breastpocket of his scrubs.
Waving and blowing kisses to daddy as he left for work so very early in the mornings. Or on his few days off joining him to watch Abbott and Costello or football on the couch. Football on tv still lulls me to sleep like a baby.
I can’t say that I had an easy time growing up. I remember these wonderful parts because they are what kept me alive. But I was so depressed early on from being the “uglier” of the two of us. You rode the bus and got dates, I rode the bus and was laughed at for blackheads, for my glasses, for having a crush. It shouldn’t have been that way. I was the older one. But it was that way. They told us we were both beautiful. I believed it for a little while. But moms and dads have to say that, to try a little kindness that the world won’t supply.
I loved dancing. I used to dance every day and now not at all. With friends over we would make up routines. We had costumes. So inventive and carefree. But middle school arrived and dance team rejected me. And rejected me again the next year. And again. And again in high school. I wanted it more than anything at that time. I cried my soul onto the floor of that gym. My heart broke, as I’m sure so many others must have. Especially when my best friend made the team. And then my sister. My sister who didn’t even like to dance that much. Maybe it was my large breasts. Maybe I wasn’t pretty enough. I could dance. I could dance. But they made me believe I wasn’t good enough. And I was damaged for so many years from that. I hated that bitch librarian that participated in the judging. I am scarred still. But it is further away from me now. Thank god for time passing.
The only relief for awful memories seems to be allowing the passage of time between their occurrence and the survival of those events. The pain doesn’t go away. It just becomes hidden under newer, more relevant pain.
So much trouble I’ve had living through this life. Things that may seem small to another but were landslides to me. We are all so different though. And I’ve done the best I could to overcome. But at the end of it all I won’t be sad. Life is so hard. Surviving is so hard. And there is no reason in it. No fairness. No grand reward for being a good person. I can’t give up, though. I just keep hoping it gets better from here.
So I’ll stop this for now. And return to my studies for tonight. Again I am off-topic. But I must’ve needed it. So many thoughts but so little room in my brain to think them anymore.
